“You’ve no rivers, lakes or seas?”
“O’course we do,” Brombsky says.
“But,” the Captain says, “where—”
“—Here?” Shotsky interrupts, “it’s perfect. Quiet and all. It’s always at the same temperature and no one on this planet enjoys that type of environment. Your ship runs no overcrowding nor burning risks. Besides, her wood will soak up the lake’s mildly burnt flavours: she’ll smell nice and her wood will shine and be invigorated.”
The Captain nods and the Insatiable Princess lands, relieved she can float on real liquid again. Then, he pulls out a bucket from the dark water, dips his index finger in it before inserting it in his mouth. A deep frown of surprise folds in the midst of his thick eyebrows.
“There are stronger tasting coffees Captain,” Shotsky remarks, “but they’re sought after for their perfume and flavour and are overcrowded. Besides, the Insatiable Princess’ central nervous system would suffer from it, your privacy would be gone and all would come to get acquainted with your life forms and what it has to trade.”
“Where is my bath?” Labaguette asks.
“This place stinks,” the King remarks.
“I shall remain posted here,” Birdseye adds, “stay with me King! You shall help.”
“Help at what?”
“Help at helping.”
Followed by the Captain and Labaguette, Shotsky and Brombsky lead the way to a city of high towers made entirely of solidified foam reinforced by cigarettes and cigars’ butts of all types: thin, thick, fat, still smoking and burning. The towers’ walls are streaked by long, brown and roaster matter, the streets presenting layers upon layers of the same mixtures except that they are constantly soaked in coffee soups.
“It keeps the number of blazes down,” Bromsky remarks.
To be continued…